Bittersweet
by Stacy Rogers
Summary: He puts the book down, sits on the bed and carefully unfolds the paper, covered in his mother's neat handwriting. Looks like a letter. He reads the first line and his heart stops for a second. It is a letter. To him. WARNING: SECONDARY CHARACTER DEATH


Warning: Secondary character's death

* * *

 _Life at best is bittersweet._

Jack Kirby

* * *

"Mother, aren't you joining us for dinner tonight?"

"Mother?"

"Mother?!"

"MOM!"

* * *

Knock on the door. Footsteps. Voices. More footsteps. People in white coats. Silence. Someone's sobbing in the next room.

He is shaking. He wants to cry, too. But the tears just won't come out.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Castle, but there is nothing we can do here."

* * *

She is gone.

* * *

The funeral is crowded and feels a little overdramatic - just like one of her latest performances. Which is a good thing, because this way he can pretend that as soon as the curtain is down, she will walk into the room to receive her standing ovation, with that brilliant smile on her face. And then everything will be okay, like always.

* * *

The weather is really nice, when he finally goes out. Her new apartment is not that far from the loft, just a couple of blocks away, so he decides to take a walk. The air is fresh and crisp and filled with Christmas, so much that he can taste it in every breath. Especially when he passes by a bakery and the divine mixture of all smells possible teases his nostrils.

Christmas. Something she had always tried to make special for him, no matter how old he was. They could spend the whole year separated, calling each other only occasionally, seeing each other even less often, but every year, despite all the trials and tribulations, putting both of their eccentric lifestyles aside, they would spend _this_ day together, as a family. At home.

When Alexis was born, his entire world turned upside down. Everything got so new and exciting and scary...Oh, yes - being a parent proved to be much more challenging than he had ever thought. Yet, despite a few bumps on the road, he managed to hold on to the hope. The one he had felt as a kid, every time his mother would grab his hand and take him "to go look for a proper tree". The one that used to warm his heart every Christmas Eve, even more so since his family started to grow. And never in his right mind could he imagine -

 _It's Christmas. I mean, how can it be different?_

Now he knows. Because nothing will be the same without her.

* * *

The place is eerily quiet, his footsteps creating a dull echo, as he walks through the spacious living room and into her bedroom.

It smells of her.

Some "tropical flowery thing" he never knew the actual name of, strangely in unison with the sharp aroma of theatrical make up. He takes a deep breath, lets it engulf him, welcomes the smell like one last hug from his mother.

Oh, God. He misses her, so much.

* * *

The keys - her keys - are still clutched in his hand, so he drops them onto her nightstand and lets out a heavy sigh. He doesn't even know why he came here today, the day before Christmas Eve. Maybe because he woke up in the morning and suddenly remembered how (on this very day, and only a year ago) she rushed into the loft, so buoyant and happy, declaring that she was moving to "the apartment of her dreams", just across the street from her newly built acting studio. She was so full of hope then, effervescent with plans and ideas, eager to share everything with her family.

He clenches his fists, angry with himself, with his own helplessness. With her.

God, this is so unfair. Why, oh why didn't she say anything until it was too late? Why didn't _he_ notice anything?

It still feels surreal, like someone's stupid and cruel joke. There are still various tubes, brushes and small jars, scattered all around her vanity. The script of the upcoming Broadway play she showed him the other week is on her pillow. Her favorite cup is on her nightstand, right next to a book she will never read to the end.

He picks it up, driven by some inexplicable desire to read the words that attracted his mother's attention. A folded sheet of paper slips out from between the pages, and he grabs at it, managing to catch the thing before it descends to the floor. He puts the book down, sits on the bed and carefully unfolds the paper, covered in his mother's neat handwriting. Looks like a letter.

He reads the first line and his heart stops for a second.

It is a letter. To him.

" _Dear Richard._

 _Richie, my darling, my sweet little boy!_

 _I honestly hope you never get to read this and I am sorry I haven't been brave enough to tell you everything in person, but - I think I am dying._

 _My doctor seems pretty optimistic, though. He says all I need is to keep up with my prescription and avoid any exertion, which apparently includes most of the emotional badaboom, going on around me these days. But you know me, kiddo - I'd rather enjoy what I have left to the fullest, than give up who I am and drag myself through a couple more years of uneventful boredom. Besides, a peaceful retirement is not quite my style, don't you think?_

 _I would be lying if I said that I have no regrets. I mean, who doesn't? My virtual list is so long, it would probably take hours to write down. And I have learned to appreciate my time too much to waste it on such a triviality._

 _My darling, there is only one thing I ask of you - please, don't cry. Don't grieve over me for too long. And, most of all, don't blame yourself for anything. I know you, kiddo - you tend to feel responsible for things that are way beyond your control. Take my word for it - this one is not on you. I just didn't want you to get worried about me on top of everything else - what with Alexis's wedding and another little Castle being on the way. Indulge your crazy mother one last time, will you?_

 _But oh - don't you see? I'm actually leaving you in a good place. It makes me incredibly happy to know that both you and Katherine, whom I dearly love, as if she were my own daughter, found someone you can trust with your precious hearts, someone to rely upon in every situation, but what is most important - someone worth changing your lives for. And - trust me - you have changed. For the better. There are not enough words to express how proud I am of you two, of the long way you have passed since the day you first met. And now, to see you sharing this beautiful gift of parenthood, step by step, together...It's truly amazing._

 _And I am proud of who you are, my son. I am proud to call myself your mother. I might not have been the one you deserved, but I honestly tried my best. I love you. Please, remember that. If nothing else, I should have probably told you this more often. Because you_

That's all there is, her words skidding to a halt, as if rudely interrupted.

She never finished writing this. Never will.

The letter falls on his lap, crumpled and a little wet now, and, for the first time since that terrible night, he weeps.

* * *

At first, celebrating Christmas, even in a toned-down, "family only" way, seemed unimaginable. But, eventually, they both agreed not to cancel it completely - for Lily's sake. "It's what Mother would want, anyway," Rick whispered during one of their sleepless night conversations. "She'd want it for all of us."

She wishes she had this in herself, his never ceasing ability to seek magic even in the darkest hour. But then she remembers Coney Island, the little stickman, still hidden in the depth of her desk drawer.

" _Even on the worst days there is a possibility for joy"_

Well, okay. Maybe it's a family thing.

So now, looking at Lily, happily chatting with her big sister about presents and newly bought decorations, seeing hope break through the wall of sadness and longing in Alexis's eyes, she realizes that their decision was more than worth it.

She allows herself a couple more minutes of silent observation, before closing the door and being on her way.

 _"She'd want it for all of us."_

She thinks her mother would want that, too.

* * *

The note she found on his pillow this morning, was short and non-descriptive - two lines, no signature, a hasty "See you soon" at the bottom. So, if someone asked her why she had come here - of all places - she wouldn't be able to give a ready answer. But the truth is - she knew.

She just knew, the moment she read it.

And God, does it still hurt - to know such things from personal experience.

She sighs and finally turns off the ignition of her car.

* * *

The door is unlocked and slightly ajar, and she panics for a moment, this collective habit of theirs most hard to kill. She slips inside, her steps as noiseless as possible, when she hears something. A moan of pain, a sob?

Oh, Castle.

* * *

It feels like an eternity, but he can't stop. As if all the pent-up grief, all the tears, that have accumulated in the past three weeks, finally reached their tipping point, spilling over, covering him like a wave. It's been his body's coping mechanism, an anaesthesia of sorts, that blocked all the emotions out, numbed the pain.

Numb. He's been numb these days.

And now everything hurts and he can't manage it, it's just - too much.

Suddenly, there is something soft and warm, touching his cheek, caressing his ear, brushing hair off his forehead.

A hand.

A very familiar hand.

Kate.

He cranes his neck, tries to see her, to say something.

But her hands are at his shoulders now, tugging him closer, as she sits beside him on the bed. He obeys, puts his head on her lap, neither of them saying a word, while her tender fingers keep stroking his skin, playing with his hair.

The flow of tears is receding, slowly. His breath evens out. His body goes slack, relaxed in her silent presence.

He wishes he could stay like this forever. Although, it would probably be better without the hiccups.

"Get you some water?"

He shakes his head.

"Mnh-mnh. Don't wanna move."

She presses a kiss to his jaw and he can feel her lips curve slightly.

"You know we'll have to, eventually, right?"

"I know. Just -" He sighs, isn't sure what to say next. "For a while."

"Okay." She agrees easily and his heart gets warmer, too, overwhelmed with love for this wonderful woman.

"Okay."

"How did you find me?"

"You left a note."

He huffs in mock indignation and turns to look at her, but she looks away.

"Kate?"

She says nothing, but he doesn't push, lets her do it at her own pace, like always.

"It's my mom," she finally speaks up, breaking the silence again to tell the story.

"First Christmas without her and I didn't know what to do with myself. Dad was... falling apart, my friends were busy with their own lives and I - "

She pauses, her eyebrows furrowing as she gathers her thoughts.

"I just couldn't be alone...So, I took his car and like - drove into the sunset, whatever. Some random streets I never knew existed, but Christmas was all around, no matter where I'd go."

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses her fingers softly, reassuringly.

"I probably saw half of Manhattan that day," she continues, shaking her head.

"But in the end, I found myself where I needed to be, had wanted to be since the morning."

"Your mother's grave."

"Yeah... I'd missed her every day, I still miss her. But Christmas - "

"I understand."

"I know you do. That's how I got here."

* * *

Their call to reality comes in the shape of her grumbling stomach.

He chuckles and she swats at his shoulder jokingly, grateful for the opportunity to lighten the mood.

"Shut up. They are your kids too, remember?"

"Oh, I do remember that, Beckett and very..."

He trails off and looks at her, his eyes wide, full of grief again.

"Castle? Babe, what is it?"

The knot in her solar plexus tightens anew, the urge to protect him never ceasing, even if it is from himself.

"We never told her about them. That dinner - it never happened."

The dinner. They had been planning to break the news at the dinner three weeks ago, excited to tell everybody they were expecting not one, but two babies this time. They only waited for Martha to settle in her old room and come back down to the table, her favorite duck à l'orange already served.

And the dinner never happened.

"Rick, I am -"

"No, no." He sits up slowly, turns to face her, as he takes both of her hands in his. "If there is anyone, who actually knows the way I feel right now - it's you. So you don't ever need to apologize for that. But, Kate - she had been with me all my life. Before Alexis, she had been the only family I had, the only _friend_ I had, when everybody else would turn away. She just - she was there and somehow I got myself convinced she would be there forever. Until she wasn't. And… And it's been three weeks and I still can't wrap my head around it, still think of her in present tense. I wake up in the morning and it just hits me in the gut, every time."

She sees tears welling up in his eyes again, feels her own sting in turn.

" I keep asking myself - every day - how did that happen? I mean, my mother was _sick._ She was dying in front of my eyes, day by day and I didn't notice anything. I didn't _do_ anything. And my mind just can't help torturing me, coming up with all the possible scenarios, all the words I could have and should have - ."

He takes a deep, shaky breath and squeezes her hand a little tighter.

"So, I know it's pointless and stupid, I just -"

But her fingers cover his lips, stop the endless flow of self-accusations.

"Not stupid, babe. Remember? Human."

"I know, I'm-"

"Shhh. It's okay to feel like this, it would simply be wrong otherwise. But you have to stop blaming yourself for something that is out of your hands. Trust me - I've been there. And I'm sure your mom would tell you the same."

He smiles at her, a sad and knowing thing, his eyes changing color from stormy blue to piercing cerulean and- _oh, God_ \- she is startled with how much he suddenly reminds her of Martha at the moment.

"She kind of did."

* * *

It is starting to snow by the time they walk out of the building, hand in hand. The thick flakes are swirling gracefully in the air, as if dancing to the tune of some Christmas classic he can hear in the distance.

They both slow down in tacit agreement, content to share this childish joy of seeing the first snow of the year. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in, feels his partner do the same.

" _Snowflakes are flies in their nightgowns."_

The memory is so random, so out of the blue, but, nevertheless, his mother's words manage the same thing they did when she first said them.

Make him laugh.

"What?"

Kate stares at him, confused and probably worried for the state of his mind. But he only smiles, hurries to reassure her.

"It's just something my mother once said. I - Wanna hear a story?"

"You bet."

"It was one of those days, when mother was hanging in limbo between two performances and I was still moping over Kyra, and Mother - Anyway, she dragged me out for a walk."

 _Come on, kiddo, it's slippery outside! You'll at least make a good crutch, if I twist my ankle._

"It was snowing and pretty cold, so I kept grumbling about how I didn't see the appeal in frozen raindrops. She just listened to my rant, patiently, nodding and humming in all the right places. Then, as I was figuring out another catchy argument, she patted me on the shoulder and dropped casually - you know, as if I was a kid and she was telling me some common truth - 'Snowflakes are just flies in their nightgowns. Take pity on poor creatures, ma boy'."

"Well, my mom used to call them "Santa's dandruff", but I like your version better."

They laugh in unison this time and his heart feels lighter with it, feels whole.

* * *

"You think they would have liked each other - my mom and yours?" he wonders, as they are getting into her car.

"Liked?" she chuckles in mock disbelief. "Castle, they would have _adored_ each other!"

"To the point of swapping awkward childhood stories and conspiring to bring us together sooner?"

Oh, _that_ would have been a blast. Martha and Jo, arranging a miai. The image in her head is so vivid, that for a couple of seconds she regrets they never got to live it.

But then she looks at her husband and breaks into a smile again.

"Who knows? May be they are sitting up there right now, swapping awkward childhood stories and betting on the kids' names."

"Ah, my wife. Always about the silver lining."

His tone is light and teasing, with tender gratitude seeping through, nevertheless. She leans over to him, their lips meeting in a soft, loving kiss.

"I've had good teachers, thank you very much. Now -"

She starts the ignition and drives the vehicle out into the street.

"Don't you think it's high time to go back and save Alexis and Brian from Hurricane Lily?"

"However will we manage with the other two?"

"Don't tell me. We are so doomed"

-FIN-

* * *

 _A/N I started this in January, 2015, a while before moving from one country to another, starting a new life. I hope I managed to convey at least part of the feelings, that motivated me to write this story then, while doing my favorite characters justice. I thank everyone, who took the time to read it, but special and biggest gratitude goes to Anja, who has been a great source of support and motivation for me this year. The story is unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Until next time,_

 _A._


End file.
